


Coffee Break

by Ruby_Wren



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coffee, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, One Shot, longing looks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wren/pseuds/Ruby_Wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Cullen, the most distracting part of these war table meetings isn't the strategy or the battle plans or the incessant letters for Inquisition support.  It's the coffee break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The afternoon sun poured through the towering windows of the war room.  It glared up from the long, polished table and lanced straight into his eyes.  There was no escaping it.  There had been talk, at first, of putting up curtains, but there was so much else to be done at Skyhold and decorating wasn’t high on the list of priorities.  It meant, however, that when meetings ran late into the afternoon — and often evenings, as they increasingly did — the sun was…uncomfortable.  Not painful, or at least not unendurably so.  He could endure it.  He must, because it seemed as if this blasted meeting was never going to end. 

It had to end sometime.  When it did, Cullen would go back to his office, which was dark and cool, and he would allow himself three blessed minutes to close his eyes and rest.

He would not think about the box.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Inquisitor roll her shoulders, arching her neck, as if to ease tension.  She had been moving stiffly since returning from her last mission.  It had been a long and trying one, he knew.  The whole party had returned to Skyhold only two days ago, and they were all hurting.  He noticed she was still favouring her right hand.  She had hurt her other arm; wrenched it while closing a rift, her report had said.  One that turned out to be stronger than expected. He’d spoken to Dorian later, though, who revealed, in his typical flippant way, just how strong the rift had been, and that the wrench had been nearer to a dislocation.

 _You’re getting Grumpy Face. Much as I love Grumpy Face, there isn’t call for it. Solas was there,_ Dorian had assured him. _She’s right as rain, as you Ferelden might say_.

 _She was injured_ , Cullen had said.  He wasn’t entirely sure why he had said it. It wasn’t what he wanted to say.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.  Injuries were expected, and as they went a not entirely dislocated shoulder was hardly anything to write home about. Or write in a report, apparently.

The arrow wound, the report assured him, had been insignificant.

Still, Cullen remembered when they had returned.  Helping her down from the saddle — the weariness in her face, the shadows under her eyes — and the brief moment when her fingers had curled into his sleeves and she had held on for support.  When he thought that she might lean on him.

He’d wanted her to.

As if she had sensed him watching, the Inquisitor glanced over.  He saw the searching look, the concern as her gaze ran over his face, saw the question there when she caught his eyes.  He knew the look, the concern, the question.   _Are you all right?_

Cullen offered a brief smile, returning her look with one of his own.   _Are you?_

Her mouth softened into the barest curve of a smile.  She pointedly straightened her stiff shoulders, drawing herself up.

Stubborn, Cullen thought.  She could be so stubborn, icily, intractably, unreasonably so...and she must have read that thought in his eyes — she was too good at that — because he caught the flicker of wry humor that had him smiling back.  No, she wasn’t the only stubborn one here.

He’d noticed the glances, the quiet concern, ever since he’d told her that he’d stopped taking lyrium.  Cullen had been surprised to find he didn’t mind it.  That the thought of her caring…worrying about him was unexpectedly comforting.  Like an ember carried close, small, steady, and warm.

“I believe we can consider that matter settled.”  Josephine scribbled something that ended in a dramatic flourish, and flipped to the next paper in pile.  They were only just halfway through.  “ _Next_ on the list — ”

Cassandra leaned heavily against the table, letting out a harsh breath.  “How many more, Josephine?”

“Twenty-three,” the ambassador answered promptly.

Leliana sighed, pointedly rolling her eyes.  “ _Josie._ ”

“Twenty-three _very_ brief, but nonetheless _not-insignificant_ matters which require the wisdom and guidance of this fine council — ”

“That doesn’t work on us,” Leliana said, but she was smiling.

“Of course it does, because you are so _clever_ and _pretty_ and your hair is as red as a Rivaini poppy — ”

“Josephine.”  The Inquisitor’s voice was low.  “How much longer?”

Josephine shuffled through the remaining papers.  “An hour, no more.  Most likely — very likely not _much_ more than an hour, and then I _promise_ Cassandra can go out to the courtyard and hit something with a stick.  I know, I know — we have been here some time already, and I do appreciate your patience.  In the meantime — ah.”  Josephine glided to the door and was heaving it open even as the soft knock sounded.  One of the kitchen servants entered, walking very carefully under the weight of a tray laden with cups and saucers and a large pot of coffee.

Cullen felt his mouth go dry.  

He knew this was coming.  He expected it.  Josephine always made certain there was, at the very least, coffee if their meetings ran long, and often something to eat as well.

Josephine had already cleared a place for the tray at one end of the war table.  “Thank you, Lily, and please thank your mistress as well.  I will see to it myself.  Ah, and it looks as though we have blueberry pockets for Cassandra, and even those plain, simple, unadorned biscuits you like so much, Cullen.”

“What?  Yes.  Thank you.”  Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

Josephine waited until the door shut behind the servant.  “Next on our list:  I am happy to say that we received a note from Reverend Mother Hevara, offering her condolences for what happened at Haven.  She  _graciously_ requests the Inquisitor and her ‘esteemed staff’ come to Val Royeaux, so that she may extend these condolences in person.  She would also like to ‘discuss the possibility of offering the services of any clerics or lay sisters she can spare to the Inquisition, should we feel the need of them.’”

“‘Discuss the possibility’?” Leliana echoed.

“It is an overture,” Josephine said, pouring out the coffee and passing around the cups.  “The question is whether it is one we wish to accept.”

“Does she think we have forgotten how she greeted us at Val Royeaux?”  Cassandra shoveled sugar into her coffee, stirring it with a vengeance.  “We have _not_.”

“On the contrary, the Revered Mother expressed her hope there were no ‘misunderstandings’ — her words — over the ‘ _unpleasantness_ ’ — also her words — with the Lord Seeker and the Templars when the Herald and Lady Cassandra visited Val Royeaux.  Which is so _excessively_ considerate of her, considering it was the Templars who stood with Corypheus when they _razed_ Haven to the _ground_ ,” Josephine added, her voice a razor wrapped in spun sugar.

“More likely she is concerned that we have not gone away,” Leliana said.  Her hand hesitated over the cream before rejecting it.  She took her coffee black today.

Cullen noted that Josephine crossed to set a cup by the Inquisitor’s hand.  Sel — the Inquisitor looked up briefly to smile her thanks.  He tracked the passage of the cream pitcher along the banks of Lake Calenhad as Leliana passed it to her.

“She is frightened,” Leliana was saying.  “I am certain she and her fellow clerics would have rejoiced privately if the Inquisition had been buried in the snow, along with everything else at Haven.  She is only reaching out now because she is starting to worry.”

“You needn't sound so happy about it, Leliana.”

She poured a trickle of cream into her coffee, just enough to turn it a warm, nutty brown, and then measured out a teaspoon of sugar.  Stirred it.  Three times.  Always just three times.

“I cannot approve of what she did, how she acted.”  Cassandra’s voice was reluctant, but firm.  “But this is the Chantry.  If we have a chance at a reconciliation, we should take it.”

Josephine sighed.  “What do you think, Cullen?”

“Yes,” Cullen said.

Selena lifted the cup to her lips and hesitated.  She always hesitated, just for a moment, to breathe in the scent of the coffee.  To smile.  It always felt as if he was witnessing something very private, seeing that smile.  

“Of course, that is not to say we accept her offering _unreservedly_.  Naturally, Mother Hevara would expect us to reply with a few conditions of our own.  An official ambassador of ours to be welcomed at Val Royeaux.  Perhaps a formal letter of support for the Inquisition.  An official portrait of the Reverend Mother wearing a nug costume.”

“Yes,” Cullen said.  He realized, on some level, that he was holding his breath.  

Selena took a sip.

He thought of it as a sigh, though that wasn’t entirely correct.  It was a small clutch of sound at the back of her throat, simple pleasure.  He found himself thinking about that sound when he should have been thinking about other things.  Sometimes, when he was alone in his office, he would find himself staring at his desk, turning it over in his head, that soft, throaty sound of sheer pleasure.

“She does have a darling one from the last masque Lady Genevieve gave,” Leliana remarked.  “But why stop at only Hevara?  Surely we should ask the entirety of the remaining clerics to parade through the streets of the capital in costume.”

Cassandra began to speak — “Leliana” — but Leliana shushed her, and asked, “What do you think, Commander?”

“Yes,” he said.

He wondered sometimes that no one else seemed to notice it.  He had noticed it from the first.  He didn’t seem to be able to _not_ notice it.  He would hear it in his sleep and wake up aching.

She looked at him, as if she’d heard his thoughts, as if she knew…  Her eyes were clear, so blue and so clear, and they saw right through him, to everything he was and thought and wanted.  He wanted to be the one to ease that sound from her.  He wanted to peel her jacket off, button by button, to discover every scar and secret of her skin, to hear that sigh melt into his name.

He saw the pink flush rising up her throat, but she didn’t look away.  She watched him, as the moment and the space between them seemed to pull out and grow heated.

“Commander.”  Cassandra’s voice barreled into him.

Abruptly Cullen realized that Josephine was looking at him.  And Leliana.  And — all of them.  “No.”

“No?” Josephine repeated.  She was smiling.  

He cleared his throat.  “Sending an envoy to Val Royeaux is exactly what they want.  To make it look as if we come when they call.”

“Exactly,” Leliana said.  “The truth of the matter is that we do not need the Chantry anymore.”

“We all — ”

“Yes, Cassandra — you know what I meant,” Leliana interrupted.  “What does the Inquisitor think?”

“I think…”  Selena’s cup rattled slightly as she set it down on the war table.  “If Mother Hevara wishes to extend her condolences, she may do so here, at Skyhold.  Where we will be very happy to welcome her at any time she should choose to visit.”

Josephine nodded.  “Of course, Inquisitor.  If I may, it would perhaps be wise to specify a time and a _duration_ of this visit.  So that we do not have the pleasure of her company indefinitely.”  She scribbled a quick note and turned dramatically to the next page.  “Twenty- _two_.”

“It seems we will be here some time,” Leliana said.  Cullen could see the laughter in her eyes.  “Perhaps you should offer the Inquisitor some more coffee.”

The Inquisitor immediately held out her cup.  “Yes.  Thank you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly was the Inquisitor thinking during that coffee break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of comments suggested I write Coffee Break from the Inquisitor's pov and, wow, the result was a lot more words than I expected. Thank you for the suggestions!

As soon as this meeting was over, Selena vowed.  The very second Josephine gave that last little shuffle through her papers and announced they were finished, she was going straight up to her quarters.  She'd ignore every polite knock, every request for _only five minutes_ , and take one whole blessed hour to herself.  And take a bath. 

Not a quick scrub over a bucket of tepid water before tugging on the same clothes she'd worn for a week.  A _real_ bath, with those scented oils in pretty glass bottles Leliana had given her.  And soap — proper, creamy, soap-smelling soap — the kind that lathered into a rich, thick layer of bubbles and slicked away all grit and grime of the past few weeks.

As soon as this meeting ended.  If it ever ended.

Selena noted that Cassandra had begun to pace, a few abrupt steps back and forth, and concealed the rush of relief.  A half an hour, then.  Once Cassandra started to pace, they had a half-hour before she threw up her hands and demanded they stop _talking_ about everything and go _do_ something instead.  Perhaps an hour, if Josephine was particularly eloquent.  She could last that long, even if every muscle was so tight and tense they felt like iron.

 It had taken a surprisingly small degree of negotiation with Josephine to secure an entire free hour in her schedule.  Skyhold meant a certain amount of luxuries — such as regular bathing — but it sometimes seemed as if there was more to command her time here than when she was on the road. But the most recent expedition had been a long one, and very hard.  Josephine had promised the returning party time to rest.  Promised, Selena heard, after Blackwall had pulled Josephine aside, and Leliana and Cullen as well, and insisted that those just returned from the Hissing Wastes be given the time they needed to heal.  From what she’d heard, Blackwall had been quite gruff about it, though, as Varric remarked, that was hardly surprising.

Apparently Cullen had been...supportive of the idea.  Or so Varric said.   _Something along the lines of making certain you were taken care of._ Varric hadn't even tried to conceal his grin.   _Or perhaps it was 'personally seeing to it'?  Either way, sounds like he was pretty determined —_

No.  Stop.  Don't, um, don't think about that.  That sort of thinking...it...it didn't...  Think about the bath.  The long, lovely bath in the deep copper tub.  The hip bath stretched out in front of the fireplace.  The scent of the wood smoke, the soft pop and crackle of the logs as the firelight reflected off the bathwater. Sitting on the edge of the tub and feeling the heat glow through her, feeling it trail from her fingertips as she pulled her hand back and forth through the water until it was hot enough to sting.  Her robe, soft and loose, _slipping off her shoulders, as his hands trailed up her back, callused and slightly rough against her skin.  His hands would be strong, steady, finding every knot, digging into the tight spot just under her shoulder, the pressure just shy of pain and his fingers so warm she wanted to weep, until she sighed and leaned back into him..._ _to let herself stop, relax, for just one moment, and know she could because he was there —_

Selena caught herself before she closed her eyes, the ice of realization racing through her as she abruptly remembered that she was in a meeting, that — oh, Maker, _please_ don’t let her have made any noises — and that _you are not alone here, Selena_.

She needed to stop thinking those things.  It wasn’t helpful, and she…she had been thinking those things too often lately.  Very often.  All the time, really.

Selena tried, discreetly, to roll her shoulders back, to cast off the lingering daydream of his hands on her skin _._ And sensed him watching her.  

She always knew when he was watching her.  She felt it, the little clutch deep in her belly. _Calm.  You are the Inquisitor.  You are going to be calm and act normal.  And don’t look —_ but she already had.

He looked tired.  Cullen always looked tired.  She’d hear the soldiers joke about how hard he pushed them, and she knew he did, and knew it was nowhere near as hard as he pushed himself.  But this look…  The pale, set expression, the sharply etched lines at his eyes.  She knew this look.

Cullen rarely spoke about his decision to stop taking lyrium.  He had informed her of his decision, and that Cassandra was watching him, and had politely but firmly evaded any further questions.  So she hadn’t asked, no matter how much she wanted to, even as the worry ate away in her belly.  She thought up excuses to stop by his office instead, to pull him aside for a few minutes conversation...flimsy, foolish excuses, but he never questioned.  It had to be pitifully obvious what she was doing, but he’d yet to say anything.

His eyes were steady and warm as they watched her, but she could see the tension behind them.  The grim set to his mouth that said a headache that was building.  She couldn't stop the questioning look, the immediate, instinctual, _Are you all right?_

Cullen offered a brief smile, returning her look with one of his own.  She knew _that_ look as well.  The humor and the challenge.  No, he wasn’t the only one here hurting and tired, and they both knew it. 

Selena tried not to smile as she deliberately drew herself up, straightening her stiff shoulders,and got the stern, _disobeying the Commander_ look.  The one he gave her when he thought she was being stubborn, which was so stubborn in of itself that she couldn't stop the quick, warm flare of amusement.  He caught it — he caught everything, even the things she didn’t want him to see — and smiled.  A real one, his mouth crooking up at the side, pulling at the scar on his lip, and the lines at the sides of his eyes crinkling as his gaze warmed and her chest went tight.

“There,” Josephine announced, her bright, satisfied voice drawing Selena’s attention back into the present.  “I believe we can consider that matter settled.”  She scrawled a large, flourishing note, her jeweled bracelets jangling softly as she shifted the top paper to the bottom of her stack.  “ _Next_ on the list — ”

Cassandra planted her hands on the war table, glaring down at a collection of markers along the coast of Kirkwall.  “How many _more_ , Josephine?”

Josephine put on her most charming smile, the one she used to deal with particularly difficult nobles, and Cassandra.  “Twenty-three.”

Leliana gave a softly edged sigh.  “ _Josie_.”

Josephine flipped rapidly through the mass of paper in her arms, as if demonstrating what a small stack it was.  “Twenty-three _very_ brief, but nonetheless _not-insignificant_ matters which require the wisdom and guidance of this fine council — ”

“That doesn’t work on us.”

“Of course it does,” Josie sparkled at her, “because you are so _clever_ and _pretty_ and your hair is as red as a Rivaini poppy — ”

“Josephine.”  Selena cut in as smoothly as she could.Patient _._ The Inquisitor was patient and calm and always civil to her advisers, no matter how much her back was hurting.  “How much longer?"

Josephine made a show of considering before she waved a dismissive hand.  “An hour, no more.  Most likely — very likely not _much_ more than an hour, and then I promise Cassandra can go out to the courtyard and hit something with a stick.  I know, I know — we have been here some time already, and I do appreciate your patience.  In the meantime — ah.”

There was a discreet knock at the great door to the war room, but Josephine was already there, silk skirts fluttering as she hauled it open.  It was Lily, one of the kitchen girls-of-all-work, who bobbed politely in spite of the heavy tray she was carrying.  Selena took back every frustrated thought she’d had about Josephine Montilyet since this meeting started as the dark, fragrant scent of coffee seeped through the air.  Their ambassador was a kind and gracious and generous woman and, thank the Maker, there were biscuits.

Josephine cleared away a place for the tray at one end of the war table.  “There we are.  Thank you, Lily, and please thank your mistress as well.  I will see to it myself.  Ah, and it looks as though we have blueberry pockets for Cassandra, and even those plain, simple, unadorned biscuits you like so much, Cullen.”

“What?  Yes.  Thank you.”

Josephine smiled at Lily again, who curtsied once more and hurried out without a word, only waiting until the door closed to ease into the next matter of business.  A letter from the esteemed Mother Hevara, inviting them to Val Royeaux; they’d received several polite notes from the Reverend Mother’s staff after that first disastrous meeting, but nothing from Mother Hevara herself.  Particularly not an invitation.

Josephine caught Selena’s inquiring look as she began to pour out.  “It is an overture.  The question is whether it is one we wish to accept.”

“Does she think we have forgotten how she greeted us at Val Royeaux?” Cassandra returned.  “We have not.”

“On the contrary, the Revered Mother expressed her hope there were no ‘misunderstandings’ — her words — over the ‘ _unpleasantness_ ’ — also her words — with the Lord Seeker and the Templars when the Herald and Lady Cassandra visited Val Royeaux.  Which is so _excessively_ considerate of her, considering it was the Templars who stood with Corypheus when they _razed_ Haven to the _ground_ ,” Josephine added bitterly as she handed Selena a cup, then poured another which she passed to Leliana, who in turn held it out for Cullen.

Who ignored it.  His attention was fixed on the coffee tray.

Leliana smiled, setting Cullen's coffee down by his hand.  “More likely she is concerned that we have not gone away.  She is frightened.” Leliana considered the small pitcher of cream for a moment before sliding across Ferelden towards Selena with particular care.  “I am certain she and her fellow clerics would have rejoiced privately if the Inquisition had been buried in the snow, along with everything else at Haven.  She is only reaching out now because she is starting to worry.”

Selena stirred cream and sugar into her cup, watching the cream swirl like satin in the dark liquid.  She let the debate filter through her — _this is the Chantry, if we have a chance at reconciliation_ — as she lifted the delicate porcelain cup to her lips and allowed herself one moment shut her eyes and breathe it in.  One moment to savor that rich, dark scent, and how it made everything in her seem to ease and find comfort.

She hadn’t tasted coffee before joining the Inquisition.  Coffee had been a luxury at Ostwick, and at Ostwick luxuries were controlled by the Templars, to be meted out to all the good little mages as they saw fit.  Handed out as a good conduct prize to those who were quiet enough, calm enough, obedient enough.  Coffee had been rarely awarded; a few of the Knight-Captains had a particular taste for it, and no matter how good and quiet and calm the mages had been at Ostwick, somehow it was never good enough.  So Selena had told herself that she didn’t want it, didn’t like it, even after the Circle had fallen and the Templars were no longer there to dictate every breath.  Templars drank coffee; she didn’t.

Then there had been that long, ugly slog through the muck of the Fallow Mire, past the empty cottages and the undead.  As one problem after another mounted, as injuries forced Solas, and then Blackwall, all of them back to camp, one after another, until there had been only Selena and Cullen left.  Unable to turn back while their soldiers were being held hostage, unsure of how exactly they were supposed to succeed with pnly the two of them.  They’d stopped for breath just before the Avvar keep, with the undead swarming ahead of them, soaked to the skin and bone weary, and forced down some dwarf bread and dried meat, anything to keep going.  Cullen had shoved a canteen in her hands. _Drink._

She had, thinking it was water, then choked and sputtered as the cold, thickly bitter liquid hit her tongue. _What is that?_

He’d given her a curious look.  _Coffee._

_It’s terrible_ , she’d said.

_It will keep you going_ , he’d said. _Drink some more._

She had, grimacing, and felt her nerves jangling as they cut their way through the swaths of undead to the keep.  

After, on the road back to Haven, he’d brought her a steaming mug, and she’d taken it because after what they’d went through it seemed rude not to.   _It’s better when it’s hot_ , he promised.

The coffee had been hot enough to scald her tongue, and so bitter it felt like a blade.   _Not much,_ she’d said, and he’d grinned.

_It’s a bit of an acquired taste,_ he’d said, and she’d felt a flush of heat seep through her that had nothing to do with the coffee.  She’d never seen him smile like that before.  Unreservedly.

Selena sipped, her mind still on that frozen patch of road, and felt everything in her body hum with pleasure in that first, bittersweet taste.  She didn't stop the sigh of satisfaction that caught in the back of her throat.  She never tried.

He'd been right.  It seemed she had acquired it.  It seemed somewhere along the line it had become the taste of him…of _home_.  Somewhere along the line this taste, these moments, these people, had become home, in a way that nothing else ever had.  She wasn’t entirely sure how or when it had happened, but she thought it might have started on the road back to Haven, with that cup of coffee.  With him.

“…a formal letter to the Inquisition,” Josephine was saying, and Selena heard his voice rumble, “yes,” and felt the familiar clutch in her stomach, and knew he was watching.  That he had been watching her, all this time.  He watched her mouth; she knew he did.  When she ate.  Drank.  She’d noticed the way his eyes lingered, and the…intent look on his face.  He watched her mouth almost as often as she watched his.

Then the words _nug costume_ floated across her mind, and Selena looked up to find Josephine smiling wickedly at her.  She heard, vaguely, Leland ask for the Commander's opinion on a parade of clerics.  The spymaster's expression was entirely too knowing for Selena’s comfort.

“Yes,” Cullen said, and it was a struggle not to close her eyes and simply soak in the sound of his voice.  Maker, she swore she could _feel_ the rasp of it against her skin.  

_Don't look.  Don't._  She knew what she'd see if she looked, and she didn't know what to do about it.

But she did.  She couldn't stop herself.  She didn't try.

Yes, that.  He'd look at her like _that._ The afternoon sunlight caught his eyes, turned them to amber.  She saw the muscle work as he clenched his jaw, and felt the heat curl up from low in her belly in long, liquid pulls.  No one else had ever looked at her like that.  Intense.  Focused.  _Hungry._ As if she was the only thing he could see.  

Cullen did.  Selena knew he did.  Sometimes, on edgy, restless nights when her bed seemed like an enemy, she would lean against the glass doors to her balcony and look out at the dark and quiet of Skyhold, and see the lights still burning in his tower.  And think of the way his eyes burned into her, the way they were now.  She’d wonder what would happen if she went down there.  If he would look at her like that.  If he would send her away.  If she would let him.  Or if she would find the courage to stay.  To lift herself up on her toes and finally, _finally_ discover what he tasted like.

But she’d always turned away, curled up in her bed, alone.  Too afraid, too unsure to take that chance.  She was tired of turning away.  Of cold sheets and that vast, empty bed.

So she didn’t, not this time, even if it meant he'd see.  He’d see how much she wanted and he’d know...  She held his gaze, let it burn through her even as she felt the heat rising in her throat.  

“Commander.”  Cassandra’s voice was like a hammer, fracturing the moment.  Selena closed her eyes as Cullen started and turned abruptly to the Seeker.

“No,” he said.  It came out brusque, strained.

“No?” Josephine echoed innocently.

Cullen cleared his throat, and looked away.  “Sending an envoy to Val Royeaux is exactly what they want.  To make it look as if we come when they call.”

“Exactly,” Leliana said.  “The truth of the matter is that we do not need the Chantry anymore.”

“We all — ”

“Yes, Cassandra — you know what I meant.”  Leliana’s voice was coy as she asked, “What does the Inquisitor think?”

“I think…”  The coffee in her hand had begun to steam; Selena set it down quickly, straining every fiber to suppress the heated, trembling sensation that was shivering along each nerve.  “If Mother Hevara wishes to extend her condolences, she may do so here, at Skyhold.  Where we will be very happy to welcome her at any time she should choose to visit.”

Josephine nodded.  “Of course, Inquisitor.  If I may, it would perhaps be wise to specify a time and a _duration_ of this visit.  So that we do not have the pleasure of her company indefinitely.”  When Selena nodded, she scribbled a quick note and turned dramatically to the next page.  “Twenty- _two_.”

“It seems we will be here some time.  “Perhaps you should offer the Inquisitor some more coffee.” Leliana’s expression was all too innocent.

Selena refused to give herself time to think.  She held out her cup.  “Yes.  Please.  Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the meeting, Selena tries to determine whether or not to speak to Cullen.

Maker help her, she had drunk four cups of coffee.   _Four_.  And she’d very nearly said yes when Josephine offered to send for more, except some measure of sense had intervened.  She’d managed to scrape together a reason to stay behind once they called the meeting to a close, too — something about maps, or reports or…she couldn’t even remember now, only that she needed one single moment alone, to focus, to pull herself together.  To beat her damn head against the wall.

_What were you thinking, Selena?_  She was very nearly shaking where she stood from all that coffee.  She could feel it jangling just under her skin.  Selena placed her hands on the war table, clenching her hands into fists, willing her body to calm and still.  It didn’t help.  If she could breathe, if she could _think_ , but the war room was much too hot — the sun was still glaring through the windows — and she could feel every button of her jacket fastened all the way up her throat.  The fabric was uncomfortably tight and stiff against her skin, and the stuffy warm air of the war room was a weight in her lungs.

She breathed in, out, long and slow and deep.  Concentrating on the cold, drawing it into her.  She felt the chill raise goosebumps along her skin, and heard a soft crackle and pop as ice crept along the windowpanes like lace.  She’d always been better with the cold — stronger, safer…well, safer at least.  It had been ice and armor, keeping her apart but protected, and, Maker, so much easier than fire, which burned through you in a flash and left you shaken.

Selena let out another breath.  It frosted in the air.  She could feel the chill sinking into her, through her clothes, settling into her bones.  It wasn’t helping.

_The way he looked at her_ …

She couldn’t — they couldn’t go one like this, could they?  Always looking and never saying anything, until the words filled her up and all sounded wrong.  There had to be a day, a moment, when she grew sick of silence and finally found a way to say everything she thought.  Felt.  Wanted.

For the Maker’s sake, she was leading an Inquisition that was hunting down a darkspawn Magister.  She had traveled through time — _twice_ , because, as Dorian liked to point out in the name complete and total accuracy, they’d gone there and back again.  She’d once fought seven bears in a row.   _Seven_.  She’d been in the Hinterlands with Bull and Blackwall, trying to rout the bandits that had been harassing refugees, and those great, hairy monsters had just kept coming.  There were doubtless some hungry souls at the Crossroads still being fed off all the bears they’d hacked through that day.  She should be able to have a simple, honest, direct conversation with the Commander of her Inquisition.  She did so everyday.  This time she would just say… all those things that she hadn't said before.  She could, she would just — go out there.  Talk to him.  March right up to him and say…

Say…

_Cullen, I like you —_

No. She couldn't say that. She didn't know much about how you did _this_ , but she knew you couldn't just say it like that.  Because… well, then what?  The best you could hope for in that case was that he said _I like you too,_ and then she'd be left wondering what _like_ meant and if she'd just confessed her feelings or if they'd merely confirmed their pleasant working relationship.

All right, then: _Cullen —_ because yes, obviously, she’d start with his name.   _I’ve been thinking about you.  A lot.  And I was wondering if you thought of me as well — in a non-Inquisitor capacity, that is.  Because I’m not just the Inquisitor, I’m also…_ a complete idiot.  Selena let out a hard breath, and felt the clutch in her stomach as she thought about the way he stared at her across the table.

Not just across the table.  She caught him looking at her like that often.  Nearly as often as she caught herself looking at him.

Very well, then.   _Cullen._  Good, good start with his name.  She liked his name.  A little too much, probably; too many mornings now she woke from dreams that left her flushed and panting, and prayed fervently that she hadn’t moaned his name aloud.  Selena closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sudden heat that raced along her skin.   _Cullen.  I have noticed that you watch me.  Sometimes.  Often.  A great deal.  I’ve noticed it because… well, I tend to look at you.  And I’ve heard — read — well, when people stare at things, a lot, it’s generally taken as a sign that they like whatever it is they happen to be looking at.  Or that they’re repulsed by it — but I’m not — that is, I’m not the former, but you could be the latter — in which case I will just go find Dorian, and he can help me work out how to reverse time so this never happened —_

Selena put her head in her hands and groaned.

She’d say it wrong.  She always said things wrong.  She couldn't even say it right in her _head._ She’d make a mess of it, and he’d be polite, of course, and that would make things worse.  She’d have less than she did now.

_Coward._

_Yes_.  She was a coward.  She wanted to be brave, and for one moment as she stared back at him across the war table, fooled herself into pretending that she was.

Enough of this. Selena grabbed the stack of reports Josephine had left for her and headed for the door. She was being foolish. And she was wasting time. She had an hour to herself, and a bath to get to, and peace, and solitude and… aloneness. She swung open the door to war room —

— and walked straight into Cullen.  

He was solid as a wall, and the collision had the papers in her arms shooting up and spilling between them.  Cullen immediately grasped her arms to steady her.  And then let go abruptly.  “Inquisitor. I — ”

“Commander — ”  She stopped when they spoke at the same time, and fumbled for the last few papers.  They seemed to dance away from her, fluttering to the floor and spreading out like a puddle.  Selena closed her eyes for a moment, because _of course_ , and then knelt quickly to snatch them up.  Cullen crouched to help her.  She could feel the heat rushing up her neck as she tried to shuffle a pile into some sort of order.  “I’m sorry, I’m just — ” _going to go throw myself in a well_ “ — not too steady.”  She scraped papers into a pile, not caring if it was a mess.  “I think I might have had one too many cups of coffee.”

Cullen cleared his throat and looked away for a moment.  “Yes.  You did drink quite a lot.”  He gathered up a few papers, tapped them neatly into line, frowning as he set them on the growing pile.  “We give you too much.”

“No, you don’t,” she answered easily, relaxing a little because this, at least, was familiar.

“We do.”  She tried not to smile at the tone of his voice, or the stubborn set to his jaw.  The shadow of his stubble was darker today; he hadn’t shaved.  She wondered how it would feel against her lips.  Selena quickly looked away.  “We can’t ask you to do everything simply because you’re the Inquisitor.”

She focused on settling the pile into some sort of order.  “How many reports do you have on your desk, just at this moment?”  Good.  That came out strong and without any sort of… yearning.

“That’s irrelevant.”  Selena arched one of her brows at that, and the corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched.  He didn’t smile, but she saw the warmth of it in his eyes.  “Eighty-three.”

“Seventy-four,” she returned, “though that’s if I haven’t lost any…”  She snatched up an errant sheet that had snagged in one of the cracks.  It was a heavy cream-colored vellum, marked with an official seal.  A royal seal, Selena noted.  Ah, yes.  She held it out for him to see, with a wry smile.  “The invitation to King Alistair’s nameday celebration.”

“Can’t lose that one,” he agreed dryly.  Cullen handed her the last of the papers, then stood, holding out a hand to help her up.

Selena took it without hesitation.  His hand was warm and strong, and it felt like it was barely any effort at all for him to lift her to her feet.  “Not if I want Josephine to — ” She stopped abruptly as she stood, and realized, standing, just how close they were.  She was looking up into his face, and there was barely a breath between them.  “To...to speak to me again.”

“Yes.”  He was watching her.  Sunlight poured through the broken gap in the wall, turned his eyes to amber.  “Do you…” His words faded as she wet her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth.  A small muscle worked in his jaw.  “Do you intend to go?”

She very nearly asked _where_ , and had to pull herself away from the sunlight on his face, in his hair.  “I can hardly refuse a king, now can I?”  She tried for lightness, but it came out breathless.  She was still holding his hand.  Or he was holding hers.  She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t think, she could only feel his hand grasping hers.  Warm, because everything about him was warm, was solid, was strong.  This wasn’t a good idea.  Probably wasn’t, but she hadn’t thought, she’d just taken his hand, and Maker she could feel the warmth even through the supple leather of his gloves.   _You’re standing now, you can let go of his hand, you should let go…_ but she didn’t, and neither did he.

“You’re the Inquisitor,” Cullen murmured.

“And less than a year ago I was an escaped Circle mage, living in the hedgerows.  Stealing carrots from fields so we wouldn’t starve.  And now I’m paid court to, and asked to sit in Judgement, and invited to king’s nameday parties.”  Along the back of her hand, the mark gleamed a soft green.  It was quiet today.  It was always quieter at Skyhold.  “The only thing special about me now is that.”

Cullen ran his thumb along the scar, and a shiver rippled through her as every nerve flared to life.  “No.  It isn’t.”

She looked up at him, and wished she hadn’t.  She couldn’t think when he looked at her like that, couldn’t breath, she could only _want_.  “Cullen.”  His name caught in her throat, came out on the edge of a breath.  She hadn’t meant to say it, not like that.

“Selena.”  He moved forward, slowly, or perhaps she did.  She wasn’t too clear, it was a little hard to focus, she only knew that the distance between them was easing away like fog.

“I wanted… I wanted to ask you something.”  She needed to focus.  He was so close, and she wondered if she reached out, touched his cheek, how his stubble would feel against her fingers.  She could feel the warmth of him radiating from him, and couldn’t remember the last time she felt warm.

He moved closer, until he seemed to be towering over her, until she felt the cold stones of the wall against her back.  “Yes.”

“I wanted to… tell you… ask you…”  So big, and the scent of his skin swirled in her head, clouding it.  She couldn’t think.  She could see his pulse at the base of his throat, and she wanted to reach up, to kiss that spot just under his jaw, to taste him.  “I want…”

“What do you want?”

Selena felt everything inside her melt at his low, rough tone.   _You.  I want_ _you_ .   _I want you to touch me.  I want to know what it feels like to have your mouth on me, to have you inside me.  I wish I was better at this, I wish I knew how to do this.  I touch myself and pretend it’s you, but I don’t want to pretend anymore, and Maker help me I feel so foolish._

Say it.  But her mouth was dry.  She couldn’t speak.

Cullen murmured her name, his gaze on hers, searing and steady and holding her fast.  What did he see?  Too much.  He had always seen too much.  She had never been able to hide anything from him.  He looked at her like that and he saw _everything_ , and left her aching _…_

_Touch me._  Say it. Don't be a coward. Say it, Sel —

“Inquisitor.”  Leliana’s voice was soft, but it cut through the air between them like ice.

Cullen was still looking down at her.  Selena, heart hammering in her throat, thought of the moment where she’d met his gaze across the war table and managed to be brave.  She wound her fingers through his and held on.  “Go away, Leliana.”

There was a long curl of message paper in Leliana’s hand, from one of her ravens.  “I have just received word that the agents I sent to investigate Cassandra’s missing Seekers have not reported in.  The last I heard from them, they were on their way to Caer Oswin, to investigate the disappearance of Bann Loren.  Forgive me, Inquisitor” — Leliana’s eyes flicked briefly to Cullen — “but I do not think this is a coincidence.  If these events are connected, I believe it will require urgent attention.  We may have discovered where the missing Seekers can be found.”

Cullen examined her face for a moment, and they were still Cullen and Selena — and then he was the Commander again, and stepped away.  The loss of warmth was like a blow, even as she felt The Inquisitor settle onto her shoulders.  She forced herself to turn away from him, to address Leliana.  “Have you informed Cassandra?”

“I’ve only just learned of this myself, Inquisitor.”

“I’ll go with you.”  Selena held out her hand, and Leliana laid the message in it.  She read it quickly.  “Commander.”

“Yes.”  His face was composed, focused.   _To work_ , she thought.

“I — ”  But Selena stopped.  She was the Inquisitor now, and they needed to discover what had happened to the Seekers.  She’d made a promise to Cassandra.  “Have Master Dennet informed that he should prepare the horses.  We’ll be leaving as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think it's typical of their relationship that Cullen and Selena are inevitably interrupted right before things get interesting.


End file.
